


Stories From Afar

by writeronloose110



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 13:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeronloose110/pseuds/writeronloose110
Summary: Thoughts, ideas, and creative musings written for leisure. Read on if you'd like to step into my world of imaginative beings and happenings. Just some bits and pieces to read through when you're bored, upset or are looking for fun.





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Stories from Afar is a compilation of short stories and essays, written over the past few years whenever inspiration stroke. This includes not my best work, just some experiments practice pieces from when I first started out, so they would definitely lack in quality. The stories posted would be in order from when they were first written. I always aim to improve do hopefully you might see a change in my writing style over the course of these. I hope this helps anyone struggling to write, or find their writing style, understand that writing is a process and no two works could ever be alike. There are good days and bad days, and one can only work to improve! Developing your writing is a process and you do have many failed attempts, so here are a couple of mine! and My mini versions of a plethora of genres, from dystopia, horror, and tragedies; to reflections on different aspects of life. I hope to add to this collection every time I'm not working on a bigger project so as to keep the writing juices flowing. I hope you enjoy my happy accidents!
> 
> Happy Reading! xx

_**Dated: **December, 2012_

Rain. It's such a wonderful phenomenon, one of God's many miracles. Unlike most people, I love the rain. I love the atmosphere it creates. Those grey clouds, cackling thunder, the whole dim and gloomy environment it creates, it all soothes me. Normal people go out for a walk during a sunny day, to bathe in the warmth of the sun. I, however, only _exit_the house when it raining. The whole environment relaxes me and rids me of my worries and problems.

Walking down a road while raining, with an umbrella in my hand, its the most peaceful thing I have ever experienced. Since, no one is out while raining, the whole environment is quiet. I love listening to the tiny water droplets falling; the constant '_dip__dip'_of the droplets hitting the ground, or a gathering itself in a puddle in the muddy ground; with an occasional blast of light across the dark sky followed by the growling voice of thunder. I love to just sit under a tree, where the ground is comparatively drier, and watch the little ripples the tiny droplets create as they fall into a muddy puddle.

Being in the rain helps me notice the most intricate details of the world/ the beauty of a blade of green grass decorated with the shining water droplets; ants scattering around trying to find cover from the rain; the sight of a few birds nestling together for warmth up on a tree; these are all the sights, sounds, smells and sensation you can only experience during the miracle called rain.

Right now, as I sit under the shade of my house, out in the back yard, I admire the rain. It is not a heavy shower like usual, just a little drizzle. The clouds are parting slowly, indicating it's near end. As I write, I love the feel of the rain drops staining the page and my (writing) hand, the droplets that escape the protection of the shade and rest upon my hand.

And now the rain has stopped. I can see the sun, struggling to get out if its dark blanket of clouds after a long days rest. And here comes the best part, just as the sun is fully out, its immense light reflects of the surface of the rain drops and produces something so immaculate and wonderful; a long bar o f multiple colours: a rainbow. I watch it appear before me with child-like fascination, but truth be told it has never failed to fascinate me. It is another one of God's miracles, another one of the miracles we do not cherish anymore, we do not deem worthy of attention. I don't care what people say, whether child-like or not, I still feel safe and sound under the protection of the dark clouds, and I will never stop wanting to admire it, and immerse myself in it. After all, there is no better feeling than singing and dancing in the rain.


	2. Strangest Taxi Ride Ever

_**Dated: **March 2013_

I hurried towards the nearest taxi I could find. I was late and had to hurry up. I got into the taxi and gave the driver the address. Though I told him to go really fast, we stopped at every signal, and even a turtle could have taken me to my destination faster. 

“Um….. Could you please speed up? I’m kind of in a hurry.” I said. “I’ll try, but you know, this thing doesn’t run well on the road. I seldom ever ride it here.” The driver answered in a croaking voice. 

I tensed in my seat. Great, I thought. What now? So much happened toady and I had to get stuck with a lunatic for a taxi driver. Soon, I noticed that the driver was staring at me from the rear view mirror. I thought it was kind of weird, but when I caught his eye, a chill ran through me and I saw a dozen images flash through my eyes; images of things that scared me the most. I saw my scariest nightmares flash in front of my eyes. 

I let out a gasp. I was having trouble breathing. My hands went to my throat. _Where am I?_ I thought. _What’s happening?_ My confused couldn’t remember anything. But when I looked ahead of me, I finally saw the man’s face in a twisted mask of laughter. Then as realization fell on me, I could hear the laughter, horrible ear aching laughter. 

“What are you doing to me?” I croaked out, trying to breathe. As I removed my hand from my throat, I was shocked to see it covered with a crimson blood. 

“Nothing. You’ll see yourself. Just wait. Your life is going to change forever!” he laughed his horrendous laugh again.

As he turned his head towards me, I could see large slits in his throat, showing the red flesh underneath. And then the strangest thing happened. The car started to fill up with water. I panicked and tried to open the door. _Locked_. I couldn’t do anything. I closed my eyes as the car filled with water, the horrible laughter still ringing in my ears.

When I opened my eyes, we were underwater. I could breathe again and, even though underwater, I could feel the car going really fast. I tried to scream, but only bubbles came out. The laughter continued. I caught a glimpse of myself in the wing mirror; my eyes were scarlet and I had slits on my throat similar to the driver’s. I closed my eyes again, unable to take the sight. Though underwater, I could feel the tears run down my cheeks. I thought about my family, my life, every person I had met, my lovely friends. I didn't want to die this way, and my chest hurt with regret an sorrow. My mind was a labyrinth of unrelated thoughts swirling around with no particular order. My feelings went berserk; confusion, anger, sorrow and regret: so much regret.

The car horn blared in my ears, and when I opened my eyes to meet my fate, I was left baffled to see me standing at my destination. I stood in the driveway of a familiar red brick house, the same house where my might lived. Scared out of my mind, I looked around: there was no sign of the taxi, the road was clear. My head was throbbing from all the confusion and I could to nothing nut stand and stare.

Then I heard a voice whisper in my ear: “I told you it doesn’t run fast on the road.”


	3. Bonds

_**Dated: **June 2013_

I slammed my bedroom door shut as soon as I entered it. Without further delay, I tore off the bride's maid dress off of me and jumped into bed, covering myself with the covers from head to toe. Only when I was fully covered did I allow the tears to fall from my eyes. The silent sobs turned into frustrated and desperate cries, unheard by the crowd downstairs. After all these years, this was the first time I felt truly alone and isolated.

This was the say my mother remarried, forcing the memories of my father out of her life, and ours too. After four years of silence from her, she threw a verbal bomb at us when she told us about her decision to remarry. I could not take it anymore when she asked me to become a bridesmaid. I wanted my father back, my one and only true best friend, who was snatched away from me four years ago. I wanted him back, I _do__ not_ want another '_father-figure_' in my life. I wanted my actual father back. On that wedding day, without thinking what my mother, my stepfather or the others thought, I left as soon as the ceremony was over, and for the first time in months, broke down. I was a mess. All the walls I had kept up to keep my emotions in check broke down, and I cried myself to sleep.

At breakfast, I wouldn't talk or look at anyone, my eyes fixated on my bowl of cereal. I would occasionally make jokes with my little brother, but would not say a thing to anyone else. I would stay especially quiet when my stepfather would be at the table. I would not greet him, nor answer his greeting. He was nothing to me. Whenever I looked at his face, it reminded me of _my_ father, and _him _sitting at the head of the table, _not_ my stepfather. The pang of unbearable sorrow was too much for me to handle. So I stuck to my cereal.

Mom told me Ryan (step dad) would pick me up from school and take me to the aquarium later. I frantically thought of the excuse that I had to go to a friend's house to study for a test. Reluctantly, she agreed. In the days that followed, I would not show up for dinner, or lunch, I would eat out with friends, or would not eat at all and roam around the streets of my city, memorizing each detail.

To be honest, Ryan wasn't half bad. O could've actually liked the guy if it weren't for the fact that he married my mother. But I was _not_ ready to accept that, or say that out loud. So, for every gift he left for me, for every compliment he gave, for every argument he sided with me, I returned the favour with a glare, so full of hatred I felt my eyes burn with overflow of emotion.

However, when fate intervenes, we can do little on our part. Eighteen months after their marriage, I was diagnosed with lung cancer. My mother was devastated. My brother, who couldn't understand the words '_cancer_', '_tumor_' and '_death'_, and could not hold on to the concept of '_hospitals_', was mostly curious about the matter. I was the most calm. I accepted it as soon as I heard it. I thought '_okay, I'd I die, I die. No big deal, I was going to __die__ someday, we're just speeding up the process.'_ But Ryan, oh boy he was the living definition of the word 'destroyed'. He caught with the doctors, he did everything he could to prove the diagnosis wrong.

Over time, I came to learn how much he loved me though I felt nothing but hatred towards him. He would stay by me during the days spent in the hospital. He paid for my medication, he gave me everything he had. And finally, in days of immense sickness, I accepted him as my father.

I started talking to him, and he smiled and listened intently to what I had to say. He held on to my every word. So, I told him everything. All my thoughts, all the unspoken words now flowed right out of my mouth. I would feel happy and content, and for the sake of having someone who would talk about me when I would be no more, I would spend entire afternoons with Ryan by my bedside, sharing stories and thoughts I wouldn't dare tell anyone else. And just like that, months past and I wasn't so alone anymore. However, now I think about him, the words _he _had left unsaid, and wished he'd told me more about himself. For one tragic afternoon, he went to buy my medication, and never came back.

As I now sit here, writing this on my journal (my therapist said this would help), I breath with his lungs. With his dying breath, he had told one of the doctors that if he didn't make it, he would want to donate his lungs to me. He died to save me. Life has not been the same since, but I am healthy, and he is gone. Two of my fathers, gone. I sometimes see his lopsided smile in my thoughts, and I wish he had lived longer, for he was a man unlike any other. He taught me to love unconditionally, no matter what the other person feels, you just hold on tight and love them with all you have,because life is too short to love, why waste time hating?


	4. Help

_**Dated: **June 2013_

  
I smiled as I walked the lonely streets from my office to my house. After weeks of gloomy days and dim afternoons; the clouds looming low on the ground, God had finally granted us a day of sunshine. It felt relaxing to feel the warm rays of sunshine on my face again after the months of stiff winter. It made my long trek home quite enjoyable. As I walked, I thought about different things: work at the office, my children, what I should cook for dinner, how I had missed the last episode of _Scandal _last night; and just like that my train of thought shifted from one thing to another. It was such a pleasant day. I was so happy, for no reason at all.I guess it was just one of those days where you find yourself in a bright mood, thinking that _finally _life was on your side, giving you sunshine and not the=rowing problems at you. The couldn't have gotten any better.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

As I walked down the sidewalk, I came across a bar. My feet jutted to a halt as soon as I heard the loud noises inside. I could hear shouts:obscenities, and curses and accusations that I couldn't make out; and the shattering sound of breaking glass. My mind became alert, and ii one swift motion I had my phone in my hand, read to dial 911 if necessary. I waited a few seconds, and just when I was about to click open my phone, A tall burly man (presumably the owner of the bar) came out and shoved someone out the door. I stood there watching with wide eyes. _What had the guy done to deserve _this_? _I thought. The smaller/younger boy hit the ground very hard, and I could clearly see blue/black bruises over his arms and parts of his face.

''Stay out!'' the owner shouted bitterly. ''Never put your dirty feet in here ever again, you hear me?'' He didn't even notice me standing and staring as he continued, shouting at the poor boy. ''We have no place for people like _you._'' After muttering a few profanities, he went back inside, slamming the front door as he went, making the windows rattle.

My eyes immediately traveled to the boy on the ground. He wore a black t-shirt that was ripped at the hem, and tattered blue jeans that seemed too small for his size. Even though the sun was out, it was a cool afternoon. He could get sick in the clothes he was wearing. He looked like he couldn't stand up, so I decided to help him up.

''Here, let me-''

But as soon as the words left my mouth and my hand touched his arm, he pushed me away rather harshly and turned to shout at me. ''_Get away from me! _I _don't _want help from you _or _your kind! _Go away now!'' _His voice was hoarse; and it held so many emotions: frustration, confusion, anger, bitterness and sadness. I flinched at the sound of his voice.

''I- I was just trying to help-'' I started, but he cut me off with a bitter laugh and sneered at me. I felt hurt at being treated that way for only trying to help, but I also felt a tang of guilt for the poor boy, pondering on the circumstances that he must have had to go through to act this way. He continued on, ''As if. _No one _cares about me! Just because I'm poor, just because I can't afford expensive shit, people like _you,'' _he said the word with every ounce of bitterness he could muster, and looked at me with a disgusted gaze. ''They think they've got the license to treat us like shit. I _most certainly do not _need your help. It's best if you stay away.'' He said those words with such anger and bitterness, I was overwhelmed with guilt, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. Suddenly, I understood where his anger and frustration came from. The world today was harsh to the poor population of the world, and I myself worked at a Help Center for the poor, so the urge to help him suddenly became more strong.

Regardless of his protests (which died down after a while, because he knew as well as anyone else that he couldn't get up on his own) I helped him up and he leaned against the bar window, using the sill for support. Now that he was standing, I got a good look at him. He was tall and thin, his skin a sick shade of pale. Though he looked like he was in his youth, his dark hair had thin streak of grey in them. His bright blue eyes seemed bloodshot, sleepless, and hollow, numerous emotion swirling in his eyes. I was shaken out of my thinking when I heard him whimpering and saw him shaking, his face covered with one hand. Soon the whimpers turned into silent sobs. I stood there, watching, searching for a way to provide him comfort, but finding none. I was afraid of what his reaction might be to any gesture of mine, but eventually I sighed and timidly put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't pull away this time, instead I felt him relax under my touch.

''What's wrong?'' I asked softly. ''You can tell me, maybe I could be of some use.''

He looked at me with teary eyes. He did not shout, but barely muttered the following words above a whisper, ''Of course I'm not okay. I have a mother, a grandmother, and two sisters to take care of since my deadbeat of father decided to leave us three years ago!'' His volume was rising with every word. ''My hair is grey and I'm only twenty!'' He paused and looked at me. I returned his gaze with sympathy and understanding. H sniffed and looked away. ''I can't find a decent enough job to provide for myself, much less my family because of my _status.'' _He stopped as his voice cracked and he started crying again.

I held his shoulder as I frantically searched my mind for a way to help him. He wouldn't accept my money, no. I wanted to help him so bad, because no one deserved a life like this. Finally, after a few minutes,I had an idea.

''Have you been to school?'' I asked before I could rethink my decision.

He was surprised by the blunt question. Confused, he answered my question anyway. ''I went to high school, couldn't afford anything after that.''

I smiled.

''I am a social worker. I work at an office not far from here,'' I said, ''and I manage finances. We help the poor, homeless, even rescue animals.''

"Where are you going with this?'' he asked.

''What I'm saying is, recently I have discovered the need of an assistant. You know math, right?''

He laughed lightly. ''My best subject.'' he said, smiling for the first time since I saw him.

''Then you will do. You can work with me, I'll teach you everything you need to know. The salary is quite good too.'' I smiled and searched my pockets for a pen and paper. I wrote the address of the office and my mobile number on the back of a napkin I always keep with me and handed it to him. ''I'll see you tomorrow, ten o'clock sharp. Contact me if you face any problems.'' I smiled. He seemed stunned, as if he couldn't believe what was happening to him. Finally, shaking his head and smiling, he looked at me and said, ''Thank you.''

That night, I slept so contentedly, so very proud of myself. I found a boy; he was dirty, hungry and without hope. Now there was a ray of new life, happiness and hope, for him and is family. I am more than happy to be able to provide it.


	5. Neighbours

_**Dated: **July 2013_

A slight ruffle in the leaves, turned around. There was no wind that day. Was it just my imagination? I looked around. Even though he/she was good at hiding it, I could still see the tiny little hand curled around the tree trunk, holding on for dear life: scared. Why were they watching me? Why were they watching _only_me? Was it because I was the only one aware of their unnerving presence? The away they stalked me silently, thinking that I don't notice, but I do. They think I didn't notice their odd, old, Victorian style furniture, rotting with age, when they first moved in next to me? They didn't think I saw their curtains rotting away or being eaten by moths through the windows. How could they not notice the gloom they took with them everywhere they went? No one did, except me. And who am I? Just another man, with an ordinary life, with odd neighbours.

I saw them, all very pale, even the little ones, with obsidian eyes and hair, as if of a corpse. Their faces and eyes held no emotion whatsoever. And that is what dragged me towards them. The children would play at found, wearing odd clothes: tunics and forks and boots, as if from a different era. People walked by, without even giving them a second glance, whereas I couldn't take my eyes off them. How is it not noticeable, the way the light reflects off of their pale skin, giving them an eerie aura? I never heard them when they were inside the house. Not even a whisper through the paper thin walls of the houses. Not even the creak of a door, or the sound of a footstep could be heard.

I considered many times, the possibility of the supernatural, but dismissed it as my _over thinking_or imagination. I had difficulty concentrating on my job, feeling as if I was followed by a dark presence; a shadow. But when I looked, there was nothing. Again, I forced that thought aside as child-like thinking,but I couldn't help but think, _Is__it__true__?_

That's why one day, not long after they had moved in, I went over to over to the little girl playing. She turned when she saw me, and hid her face behind the ball she was playing with, her long, dead, black locks curtaining her features. I smiled at her and handed her an envelope.

"Tell your parents to come to dinner at my house tonight. I live in the house next to yours," I told her.

Timidly accepting the envelope, the girl said, "I know. But they won't be pleased. They don't like it when someone talks to us."

I smiled again, despite myself.

And that night, I waited. Waited for them to arrive. A quiet knock on the door. I greeted them inside. the patents and their children. Their faces showed no emotion. I led them to the table. while I was in the kitchen, getting plates, I heard a loud _clank_behind me. Alarmed I jumped back and turned to see the little girl holding the large knife I was about to use on the chicken.

"Put that down," I said. "Could hurt a pretty little girl like you."

"I am not a nice person," she whispered, looking up from the knife at me. I frowned. "I am not pleased when people talk to me either."

In swift motion, she lunged at me, aiming the knife at my heart. With the limited space in my kitchen, I barely managed to dodge. Panting, I looked up, and for the first time noticed her rotting flesh and bloody head. I am sure I never saw that before. She dropped the knife, and vanished. My house was empty .

The next morning I went over to my _normal_neighbours, and for the first time asked them about how they felt about the family that had just moved in.

"What family?" The woman asked, confused.

"The one that lives in 15A, I live in 15B." I said.

She frowned. "No one has lived in 15A for the last yen years, and I thought the person who lived in 15B died last night? A stab in the heart. They found the body in the kitchen when the door wouldn't open for his mother, so they broke in. Are you _sure_you're telling me the right address...?"

I didn't hear what she said after. I walked out.

_I_ _guess_ _she_ _didn't_ _miss_ _after_ _all_ _._


	6. Spell

_**Dated: **January 2014_

I huffed out a breath and watched it curl into a foggy cloud before me before me. It was cold, too cold, and I was shivering under the massive amounts of coats, jackets and sweaters I was wearing. Being an Asian, travelling to the cold city of Burgess in winter at its peak was proving to be more difficult than what I had imagined. I was surrounded by blinding white heaps and mounds of snow in the clearing near the frozen lake. It was immensely exciting; I was experiencing snowfall for the second time in my life, and the magical feeling of snowflakes falling around me, resting on my hair and face for a short few seconds before completely melting away in a soft, icy kiss. It was wonderful, being surrounded by cold, standing near a frozen lake in the outskirts of a tiny town, very near the forest line. The lake, frozen as it was, was the reason for my excitement. I was currently standing at the birth place birth place of the ever mysterious Winter Spirit, Jack Frost. The inner child inside me crawled out as I listened to what the tour guide was saying, ‘… is where the Winter Spirit, you may know him by the name of Jack Frost, was born from the icy depths of this lake centuries ago. He is the bringer of winter, providing winter all its beauty...’ The kind of girl I was, I was easily fascinated by the charm and magic of it all; the possibility of the presence of a Winter Spirit, providing beauty to my favourite season of the year. To say that I was excited about my following trek to the Northern Mountains, the supposed home of Jack’s Snow Queen, would be an understatement. It wasn’t far from where we stood, and I could not wait to get there.

I was heaving up and down, and I couldn’t wait for the group of tourists to move ahead of me. I pushed and threaded my way to the front of the group, a step of two behind the tour guide as we trudged our way up to the frosty, snow-capped mountains above. The numerous layers of clothing stiffened my posture, but the adrenaline pulsating through my veins fuelled my arms and legs to move increasingly faster.

Why was I so excited about such a childish concept? Well, you see, the concept of the Winter Spirit and Snow Queen have always fascinated me to an endless extent. All my childhood, I spent winter mornings staring out of the foggy glass into the misty forest behind my home; book in hand, containing the adventures of the Snow Queen and Jack Frost. All the books and stories I have ever read about them have filled me with this powerful, evangelic zeal. It always felt so amazing to think of a Spirit of Winter and His Queen, sitting in their Ice Castle hand making every snowflake that is to fall and giving each a different magical design.

Hours passed as I jumped and trudged my way through the snow covered forest, with the occasional _‘’thump’’ _of snow falling from the branches of trees unto the snowy ground. Fog and mist appeared as obstacles in our path, nipping and biting at my face. My face was ruddy with excitement and exhaustion by the time the forest line finally ended. We were now standing at the bottom of a deformed mountain, slightly rounded from the bottom. The wind roared in my ears, whipping past me in an attempt to freeze my face. The sun was close to setting, and the pinkish orange light of the sky was reflected by the snow covered mountains, giving them a beautiful glow. Excitement and adrenaline driving my actions, I leapt into the chair lift that was to take me to the top.

I heaved heavy breaths as he sir got thinner, and looked down at the forest. Snow falling and wind blowing harshly, the trees were shaking, he ice white snow sliding off to reveal he lurid green of he leaves beneath. I looked up to see the sky turn a blood red, and I felt like I was trapped in a Disney movie. Upon reaching the top (I was the first one) I couldn’t control myself and let out a loud squeal, he echo running in my ears. I lay down on the rugged, icy ground, exhaustion taking over me. I tried my best to keep my eyes open, but it was proving to be difficult. I sat up in an attempt to escape sleep.

Then something, far off into the distance caught my eye; they were two silhouettes, both lean and slender, their shadows sharp and dark against the red sky, flying towards the sinking figure of the sun. I squinted and stood up. They flew in a pattern, up and down, swirling around each other. What really astonished me was that they were surrounded by a swirling cloud of what seemed to be snowflakes. It could have been my imagination, I do not know, it had to be! It was the only logical explanation. But hours later, when the sky had turned a midnight blue, sprinkled with twinkling stars, I had finally discarded it as a figment of my imagination. The rest had arrived a long while ago, and after having dinner, we were ready to leave. Just as I was about to set foot on the chair lift, a soft wind blew and splashed my face with snowflakes. Along with the wind, I thought I heard a whisper, saying, ‘_we’re here’_, followed by a soft giggle. Instead of feeling surprised or shocked, I let a smile grace my lips. I looked back on my shoulder, and saw the same two silhouettes against the giant figure of the moon, this time quite near, and they were waving. I grinned and waved back.

In this beautiful spectacle of nature, I never wanted to leave.


	7. Tinted

_**Dated: **June 2014_

I walk the streets, the lonely streets of my town. The town is desolate, quiet except for the sound of my padding footsteps and the rustling leaves. On such a cold autumn morning, I am not surprised that I am the only one out. The red leaves _crunch _beneath my feet, a sound to relish. Twigs snap and the wind whistles by. I see myself surrounded by a landscape of red and yellow; endless hues of the red spectrum. I relish and bare myself to the harsh cold of the autumn gale, wind biting at my face and nipping at my nose. I look around, trees as crimson as the blood in my veins, the bark the mahogany of my hair. The sky is a dark grey, shrouded by the clouds, thundering and splashing white every so often with a threat of rain. The wind blows harsher, more brutal against my frail figure, but I stand strong and move ahead, a smile gracing my lips.

My attire is not warm, a thin grey sweater and creme shirt underneath. My hair is up in a bun, and my hands occupied by my old film camera, an old companion of mine. I look up as I enter a park; my favourite park. I am immediately greeted by the large figure of a tree. Unaware of its kind, that tree had always been my favourite. It stood right in the middle, large and wide, roots curving out from the ground and going back in. I stood under its shelter, under the warm red glow of the leaves above. I move aside and look up at the scarlet thicket of leaves; a sharp contrast against the dark sky, bright and alarming. I smile and snap up a picture with my camera. My smile warmed up at the result.

I have always lived my life to the motto, “_see the world through a tinted lens, for no one is imperfect enough to be ignored.”_ It is no surprise that I lived up to my motto, always accompanied by my camera. I travel places; from famous landmarks like the Eiffel Tower, to small villages and towns and the country side. I capture everything I see in the camera I carry, preserving memories, glorifying the beauty that already lies before me. It is not only the right of the famous and well known to have their beauty appreciated, beauty has itself hidden in even the tiniest of towns. In places where no one would look, hidden fro, the eyes of the world. That is my passion, to find all the beauty too shy to come out on its own, and present it to the world, to have it appreciated.

The little gadget accompanies me everywhere, I feel incomplete without it. Where ever I go, upon everything I see, I have the urge to preserve it, to save it. To show it to others, to spread its beauty. I once saw a crushed lily on the side of the road, and I stopped there and then to capture a snapshot of it. It was such a frail and damaged little being, I felt the need to make it an article of beauty, a piece of art that warmed people’s hearts when they saw. I made the broken lily into something beautiful, something everyone loved. Something that went against its fate of being crushed, into something that may be the never ending source of joy and warmth of someone’s heart.

I walk around the park, the leaves scattering past my feet, tickling them. I lift up my face to the sky as I feel the first drops of rain fall, immersing myself in the beauty of nature. I took my camera and started taking pictures; of dead grass blades decorated with the drops of rain, of the tree whose branches shook violently with the force of the wind, of the leaves who flew by me in a whirl; in short, of everything around me.

You never find beauty, not even if you’re staring straight at it, unless you’re looking for it. Life passes by you in a blur, rendering your capability of spotting beauty useless. Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, and is all around us, but we are so blinded by the _beauty _we see within ourselves that we miss the beauty occupied by others.

Have you stopped to ponder how beautifully the colour of the rainbows melt together; different hues all mixing together to create something new, a phenomenon that is not the same every time you see it? Much like how the patterns of the stars change every night; how if you change your perspective you can view them in a whole new light.

Like how the sunlight reflects of the face of the water, ripples glinting like diamonds bright as the sun.

We find beauty all around us, we just have to be paying attention to watch it pass by.

All my life, I could not find one who understood me, my thoughts my wishes. They could not understand my need to capture everything, for they do not approve of the beauty of the things I find most aesthetic. But I still do, regardless of anyone’s protest. Because I am one who looks through a tinted lens, paying attention to qualities that matter most, paying attention to those who go unnoticed.

I see the crystal clear of the skies when they are grey, I see the calm in the oceans on a stormy day.

I see the twinkle of the stars on a moonless night, I see the wounds in the birds that are in flight.

I see the struggling, the unnoticed, the underappreciated.

I see the good we wish to ignore in this world.

All through the tinted lens of my camera, in hopes of spreading the word.

The lens of my camera is indeed very tinted, due to its old age, for all the pictures I take have the brown and sepia hues to them. Everything I capture have their original colours, enhanced by the hues of my tinted camera lens. So everything I capture, from the deep blue waters of the ocean, to the blood red of the trees beside me, to the verdant yellow of the flowers that grow in spring; every single picture has the same tint to it, reminding me that they are all articles of beauty. All having their own shapes and sizes, not one like the other, but all having that same tint of pure beauty, the same tint occupied by everything that exists, by all the things that we fail to acknowledge.


	8. Wilted

** _Dated: _ ** _December 2014_

I breathed in the scent of moist grass and soil, brought to me by the chilly autumn gale. The grass a sat on was velvety to touch, verdant against the gloom of the skies. I closed my eyes and breathed out a sigh. The darkening clouds indicated it could rain any moment, but I didn't care. I don't think anyone cared. I ignored the hustle bustle around me; hushed voices of the people as the go by. The small crowd thinned and thinned, diminishing completely, leaving me alone and isolated. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I waited for everyone to leave before I let the tears fall, held in for so long it was a relief to get them out. I wailed and moaned; grieving, wishing, hoping that she'd given life another chance. I once read somewhere that you can never tell if a person is damaged until they break, until it is too late. It had proven to be so painfully, devastatingly true on this occasion. Amid my cries and sobs, my teary eyes caught sight of tiny, yellow, withering daisy next to the grey stone. Beautiful as it was, it was in its early stages of wilting, but still a sight to cherish. The tiny daisy reminded me so much of a girl I had once known. Or at least, I _thought _I knew her.

Abigail Smith, _Daisy _as I used to call her, was the coyest girl of our school. She was one to blend in with the shadows, barely visible midst the tough crowd at High School. I barely knew her, but still more than anyone else at school, having shared a few classes with her. For some reason everyone avoided her like she was the carrier of the plague. No one had the guts to talk to her, no one but me. The pure look of surprise and delight on her face on a simple _'hi' _set off a myriad of emotions within me; pride, pity, sympathy and joy, along with anger and frustration. She was such a sweet girl, her voice honey sweet, grey ayes dark and stormy; all dying to say things they never could. And sadly, never will.

We never shared much more than a polite conversation, but she had earned her nickname from me the day I had found out daisies were her favourite flower. I thought it was fitting; a delicate, beautiful flower resembled her in every way. It was pity no one could tell it was wilting inside. I had remembered her once telling me that she had not openly talked to anyone in a long, long while. Upon inquiry, she shook her head and shrugged it off with a grave expression on her face. I hadn't thought much of it and didn't push it either, but now how I wish I _had _pushed it. I wish I had asked her what was wrong, why she was all closed off like that, why she hid from everybody and _why did she feel life was not worth living. _From the outside, she looked as pretty and normal as anyone else, but no one could have guessed her jolly appearance was only part of her facade, masking the residing sea of dark and self-loathing thoughts in her mind from ever surfacing. Oh, how I wish I could have seen through that illusion, to have been able to help her.

I knew she was a victim of excessive bullying, and no matter how hard I tried it was never enough. Every time I'd catch her eye whilst being bullied; they were glittering bright with tears, her meager voice calling out to them to stop. I had wanted to help, but there was only so much I could do. The kind of life she lived, it was all a mystery to me. We were strangers outside the walls of the classroom, and I wished that I had gotten to know her better.

As I sit there, my face moist with tears, I could barely look up to see the name printed across the tombstone: _"Abigail Smith, 1998-2015" _I wish we had been closer, I wish I would have known why she gave up so quickly. I never knew she was damaged, until she withered away completely, all but a fading memory echoing through our hearts. I wished we'd been closer, that I had been of more help, that I could have saved her from herself. As I scan my eyes over the last four words italicized engraved underneath the name, realization fell on me as they were undoubtedly meant for me,

"_Thank You,_

_Your Daisy."_

God knows how I slept that night, dreaming of a grey eyed blonde merrily singing away in a field full of lurid yellow daisies, whispering a light _"Thank you" _just before the dream melted away into a pit of darkness, soon to be forgotten upon consciousness.


	9. Silence

_**Dated: **May 2015_

I had always examined her, watched her from a distance. I never had the guts to talk her, with her endearing presence weighing on me like a boulder; scaring me, rendering my ability to talk useless: it was intimidating. She was so beautiful, her ebony hair trailing down her slender back in elegant waves, her blue eyes always glinting, pink lips always in a smile, and then there was I; an average bloke with nothing enticing, very much unlike her. She was always surrounded by her friends, and all I could do was admire her from afar.

She was at family gathering one day, and to my surprise I found out she was a very distant relative of mine. I was engulfed by a wave of happiness, and at the first chance went over to talk to her. Once I approached her and greeted her, she replied me with a beautiful smile, baring her dimples. Once I started the conversation, I was baffled to find her replying to me with hand gestures. Speechless, I put the dots together, and later confirmed it by my mother.

Her beauty was so obvious, but to her (and everyone else's) despair her inner beauty was shrouded by the utter misfortune of muteness. This revelation took a heavy toll on me, and I couldn't sleep for days. I had immense difficulty coming to terms with the realization of her loss. She was so beautiful, and by our silent talks it was obvious her personality was too. Since that event, we saw more of each other at the university and became the most unlikely of friends. It was a short time however, for the end of the term was near. I hadn't dreaded another moment more than that last day at university.

All I could think about was her and her sufferings from her misfortune. The _popular _girls looked at her with jealous, yet satisfying glances. They talked behind her back, and she could hear them too, she was still capable of that. But her inability to answer made her sad, and I agitated. As the start of the new semester came nearer, and I could feel my insides twist with anticipation. It wasn't that I hadn't seen her since then, it was the upcoming surprise I had planned for her that made me nauseous. I had started taking online courses in sign language; I was struggling to learn all of the signs without reference, but I was close. I wanted to surprise her, and make her happy. It was indeed a difficult task, but with the need of making her smile and laugh driving my intentions, it was no surprise that i had mastered it in a few weeks. Even though I was confident I knew every sign right, the fear of making a fool out of myself and saying something horribly wrong (as seen in comedies), or something even worse: upsetting her in some way, made me want to run away as far as could.

The first day after holidays was one to remember, when she saw me and her whole face lit up and she ran towards me to engulf me in a hug. I complied, as usual, and not allowing myself, or _her , _to think, I started talking to her in signs. And as my rant (related to all that I had done during break) went on, I saw her eyes well up with tears. I stopped abruptly as the tears started flowing, and I could feel dread settle in my stomach. This was turning out to e worst case scenario, and I wanted to punch myself in the face. _What had I done wrong? What had I done to upset her? _I was about to apologize when her slender arms wrapped around me again, engulfing me in a tight embrace. Her shaking hands explained to me that no one other than her immediate family had tried to learn that for her, not even her closest friends! Which explained the whiteboard she always carried in her bag. I was speechless, incapable of uttering a single word, how could they be so inconsiderate! My mouth was open like a fish's, and I tried so hard to speak (physically) but failed. A few seconds later, she surprised me and started laughing, her hearty yet silent laughter lifting my heart. I had never been so proud of myself.

From that day on wards, I have not spoken a word to her, our lives wrapped within layers of silence, a silence so full of meaning, unspoken words, thoughts, and memories. I never denied any of God's blessings, but for her I momentarily gave up my speech. We shared so much love within the silence that followed us like a shadow, a silence that was an enigma for others, but for us our whole lives contained within it. It carried the amount of meaning no words could describe, and was more valuable to us than any gold or diamond. She was grateful for that, and I was too, as it had brought us closer than ever. Life doesn't have to be perfect for love to be extraordinary, and for us nothing could be truer.


End file.
